


Part of Me

by Remnant Stars (AerynsFallen)



Category: Lucy (2014)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 17:03:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15586587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AerynsFallen/pseuds/Remnant%20Stars
Summary: Pierre Del Rio missed her. "You ruined my life." The statement was false. She'd changed it irrevocably, changed him entirely but he could not force himself to regret it.





	Part of Me

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this and originally published it on FF.net in 2014. I seem to like obscure fandoms and pairings and often I find that I need to write my own story to achieve a satisfactory ending. This story doesn't particularly tie up any loose ends that Lucy left hanging, but it was cathartic to get it out.
> 
> Title taken from "Once" by Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova

Pierre Del Rio missed her. It was odd to say the least. She'd blown into his life, scared him, aroused him, and confused him to the point that his head felt ready to split open. Every moment he'd spent with Lucy he'd been on the edge of his seat. Capturing drug mules, his partners killed, gun fights, death, destruction, knowledge he would never understand, and then simply _nothing_. She was gone, and yet she'd left that one message to give him some small hope. I AM EVERYWHERE. He wondered if she could see him, when he was alone at night, when thoughts of her invaded his mind. She was a beautiful woman, there was no denying that. Her appearance held a youthful innocence tempered by the coldness of her unnatural intellect. The combination left him feeling that whoever she was, she couldn't possibly be real. And yet he dreamed of her, of the possibilities awakened by a single kiss. Ultimately it was innocent, a press of lips for such a brief moment. It meant nothing, he meant nothing beyond a reminder that she was human, or once human. His purpose had been served, and still he dreamed of her. He dreamed of pale, creamy skin, of laughter, desire, of her in his bed until the morning came and shattered the dream. And then he woke up to his small apartment, to a bed empty save for him, and to his drawn appearance in the mirror. Sometimes his dreams seemed more real to him then the life he led when he was awake. Perhaps it was because he yearned for it so much. Silly? Of course. Obsessive? There was no doubt. Crazy? It seemed his sanity was walking a fine line, and some days he didn't concern himself with which side it found him on.

He sometimes visited Professor Norman, a man equally affected by Lucy's brief but unforgettable trespass into their lives. The man was obsessed with finding her, never having the courage to see what was on the small flash drive she'd left him. He'd told Pierre that he was absolutely certain that mankind wasn't ready for all the secrets and truth of the universe, in it's entirety. He'd claimed the information was in a safe place. The men who'd been with them, respected professors and physicists and theorists in their own right had no memory of Lucy. And Professor Norman hadn't approached Pierre, assuming that like his colleagues, Pierre had been made to forget. They discussed the possibilities of her whereabouts, both looking around them, one anxiously, one with a measure of peace at the thought that she might be in that room, beside them and listening to their entire conversation.

Pierre Del Rio eventually found that he was no longer fit for police work. He blamed it on the trauma of losing so many men, on the gunfight to protect a woman that no one even remembered existed. He settled in the south of France, near a secluded beach that afforded him the privacy he desired. He lost contact with the men he used to call friends, lost contact with everyone, excluding Professor Norman, his only remaining link to Lucy.

It was on a night like any other, the breeze floating in through his window and stirring the curtains while he slept fitfully on the bed that dominated much of the small room. He wasn't a wealthy man, but the cottage that he was currently living in had been in his family for generations, rarely used. With the pension he'd received from early retirement, and the savings he'd been hoarding away since his youth he would be fit to live frugally for the rest of his life. Perhaps he'd find work once again sometime in the future. For now he was lost in a dreamstate, his life seeming to flow past him and leave him in limbo. For now he was waiting for Lucy. And if she never returned? He wasn't sure that he wouldn't spend the rest of his life speaking to a woman that he couldn't see. A woman that might not even remember his existence. A woman that just the thought of brought him a measure of peace against the chaotic thoughts that she'd brought into his life. The mess she'd created and left him to, and yet he could not forget her, could not even regret her presence in his life.

His dreams were often confusing, images of her flashing through his mind without any real substance. They were like memories he's never actually lived through, conversations they'd never had. And she never looked the same in any of them. She claimed that she was no longer simply one person. She was Lucy, and yet she was not. She could be any person that she wanted to be. She was a redheaded assassin in a black leather catsuit. She was a brunette Nanny, or the blonde college student that he knew. She was every woman he could imagine, and she was none of them. And he still lived for the nights where she haunted his dreams, and woke with an empty space by his side. A space that she'd often sat on, her legs crossed, her fingers idly playing with a loose thread on his sheets. No matter what disguise she was wearing, he recognized her through her eyes. Eyes that watched him with a measure of amusement, affection shining in their depths. He recognized her through her voice, her amused and warm tone relaxing him no matter what form she wore. Affection or amusement, whatever she felt for him, he felt that it would never be enough.

Pierre stared at his gaunt appearance in the mirror, a shadow of the man he'd once been staring back at him with empty eyes. He went through the motions of preparing for the day. A day that was only a few hours old. He shaved the perpetual shadow that lined his jaw, nicking his skin in more than one place as his thoughts drifted. He brushed his teeth carelessly, blue-tinged foam sliding down his chin as he spit out and rinsed. He washed his face, splashing cold water to his skin to wake himself up. The hair on his head was growing too long, his curls growing past his collar, his fingers tangling as he tried his best to smooth them. He needed a hair cut and yet he felt apathetic to anything but his nights and fevered dreams.

His routine was simple. He threw on some clothes after his indifferent grooming, not caring if his socks matched or if the orange shirt he was wearing clashed with his dark green pants. Maybe he looked good, maybe people would laugh, who cared with no one to see. He threw on a warm jacket, pulling the hood over his head as he went for his morning jog along the beach. The sand was wet, the morning air cold and biting as the season transitioned from autumn to winter. His breathes puffed out in clouds of condensed air as he fought the drag of the sand and ran along the ocean's edge. He never usually met anyone on these early morning runs, the sun often rising only after he'd reached his cabin. This morning was different.

She was jogging toward him effortlessly, as if her feet were striking solid concrete rather than sinking sand. At first she was simply a figure in the distance, a shadow darker than the fading night around her. At first he wasn't even aware it was a woman that was approaching him. He gave an obligatory nod in her direction as they passed each other, noting nothing of her appearance, except her small stature. He had ear-buds plugged into his ears, his footfalls matching the pounding rhythm of the music as he lost all awareness of the world around him. He didn't notice immediately that the woman had turned, that she was following behind him.

It wasn't until the breathes he took burned his lungs, until the cool wind turned biting that he stopped for a moment. His hands rested on his thighs as he leaned over and took in gulps of air. The woman from earlier came to a stop beside him, her breathes as equally labored as his own.

"You can really run." she commented between gasps.

Pierre froze, the voice causing a shiver to run down his spine. Her voice was just a little too high. It couldn't be. He wouldn't let himself believe it.

He glanced with hesitance to his right, to the woman who was smiling at him in a friendly manner. A woman that looked nothing like his dear Lucy, her eyes a dull topaz. His shoulders slumped in a mixture of relief and disappointment as the woman's smiled turned quizzical. She gestured towards the ear-buds in his ears, mouthing to take them off. She didn't know he'd turned the music off as soon as he stopped. He pulled them out, but still he couldn't speak, polite conversation lost to him in his months of solitude.

"I'm Natasha." the woman said, raising a hand out to him.

Awkwardly he took her hand in his, shaking it once. "Pierre."

"I should have known," the woman commented wryly, in a distinctly American accent. "It's a very french name, Pierre."

Pierre tilted his head in confusion.

"I guess I should have said introduced myself in French but I forget sometimes that I'm in an entirely different country." She laughed breathlessly. "Typical American." She paused for a second, her eyes widening in alarm. "You do speak English, right? I didn't just make an ass of myself and assume you can speak English because you understood that I was introducing myself."

Her babbling was almost cute, her eyes comically wide but he considered playing the 'don't speak English' card. Something about the warmth in her eyes, the smile on her lips stopped him.

"No, you didn't make an...uh, I understand English fine." He spoke slowly, his voice a little hoarse. He'd spoken no words aloud in weeks, only in dreams and quietly to himself when he wasn't aware he was speaking.

"Good." she affirmed. "I've seen you running along this beach everyday since I got here."

"Oh?" Pierre was a little disturbed by the revelation. He'd never seen the woman before today, and yet she'd been so aware of him.

Natasha grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, I guess you haven't really noticed me. Not that you should notice me." she clarified.

Pierre was lost for words. Should he assure her she was noticeable, when it was clear she wasn't, at least to him? But he noticed no one. He was sure if it had been any other man, they would have paid attention to the pretty auburn-haired American immediately. Her figure was striking, her clothes form-fitting despite the cold. Not that she was dressed insensibly, wearing a warm hooded sweater and dark sweats. Her face was flushed from the cold air, giving her cheeks a rosy glow.

"Sorry, I'm often lost in my own thoughts on my runs." he finally offered.

Natasha nodded. "Yes, it does look that way. It's sort of why I interrupted you."

Pierre frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, it's just that...you looked so lonely, particularly today."

Pierre lifted an eyebrow in query, not quite offended by the observation. He almost believed the stereotype about pushy Americans. Hadn't Lucy commanded him without thought?

"And that is your concern?" He phrased it as a question, rather than stating that it was none of her business. He should though, end the conversation and return to his mundane existence.

"You're right, I really shouldn't probe." Natasha apologized. "But, I couldn't help myself. I'm a nurse, so I can't help but feel the need to help people."

"And yet, I'm not injured." Pierre smiled sardonically.

"Maybe not physically," Natasha countered. "But there's clearly something wrong."

"And yet again I'm wondering how that's any of your concern." Pierre was regretting his decision to humor the woman. He needed to find another beach to run on, just to avoid nosy Americans.

"I'd like to help." she offered. But the offer was too much for him. He'd left civilization for a reason, and he was now remembering why.

"Will you let me fuck you?" Pierre countered with as much vulgarity as he could muster, hoping to scare the woman away.

She merely tilted her head and studied him closely. "Will that help? Will it make you forget the woman that's so clearly haunting you?"

Pierre heard the subtle change in her voice, her high-pitched tone becoming slightly deeper. He froze, his eyes scrutinizing the woman with rising disbelief. Could it be?

"Maybe,"

"Then, let's go." she motioned for him to lead the way.

He was frozen in place as the woman waited patiently for him to move. "Why?" he demanded.

"I'm a nurse." she said it as if it were obvious. As if the reason made any sense. Nurses didn't sleep with men they deemed 'lonely' just to make them feel better, at least sane nurses didn't.

"And I'm a former cop."

"So?" Natasha smiled at him so innocently he wanted to shake her. Clearly there was something wrong with the woman.

"You should go home." he spoke firmly.

"Will you follow me?" she asked.

"No." Pierre turned towards the direction of his cabin and chose to simply ignore the woman. Clearly she was deranged. Or he was, for thinking even for a second that she was Lucy.

He started to jog, but the woman was by his side instantly. He glared at her but she only smirked. He picked up the pace, ignoring the weariness in his limbs as he tried to outrun her. The woman was stubborn, keeping pace with him without trouble.

It came to the point that they were racing, the woman running along side him with the same determined smile as they approached his home. Pierre gave up when his door was within sight, throwing his arms up in exasperation.

"Go home!" he demanded. "I don't want you here."

"Of course you do." Natasha said simply, as if it was obvious.

Pierre growled, his anger rising as he gripped the woman by the arms and shook her. "Who are you? What do you want?" The woman's face flickered, her features changing for the briefest second. It was enough for Pierre. "Lucy."

"Pierre." her head nodded towards the cabin, her warm smile still in place, as if his hold on her wasn't bruising. Maybe it wasn't. Maybe she felt nothing.

He let her go, stumbling after her as she made her way to his cabin. He fell to his knees once, the sand soaking his knees and coating his hands in grit. Lucy kept walking and left the door open for him as she entered the cabin. Pierre's head was a mess of emotions. Disbelief warring with hope, anger fighting against his joy as he got to shaky legs and followed her in.

She'd already taken off her shoes, her clothes changing from the jogging attire she'd worn earlier to a tank top and shorts as she sat, feet crossed, on the same spot she'd been so many times before. But those had just been dreams, hadn't they? He was beginning to think he was losing his sanity entirely, pinching himself sharply to make certain he wasn't dreaming her.

"You're awake." she confirmed with a nod.

"Why?" he managed with a pained expression.

Lucy lifted an eyebrow. "Why, what Pierre? Why did I pretend to be Natasha? Why did I leave? Why am I back?"

"All of them." he spoke between gritted teeth, not certain if he wanted to laugh or cry at the sight of Lucy sitting so casually on his bed.

Lucy shook her head, frowning as she thought. "I know everything there is to know about our world." she spoke carefully, choosing her words with a caution that irritated him. "And yet, I feel so detached. I feel nothing most of the time."

She stared at him expectantly, as if she wanted him to answer a question she hadn't even asked. "That's not an answer. That's not even a question." Pierre focused on pulling off his jacket, putting it away carefully in the closet and trying to stave off the breakdown he was sure was coming. When he turned back to Lucy she was regarding him with confusion and hurt.

"Why are you angry?" she wondered aloud.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Pierre countered. "You ruined my life." The statement was false. She'd changed it irrevocably, changed him entirely but he could not force himself to regret it. She should have sensed the lie and still she flinched as if he'd struck her.

"Did I?" She seemed confused, her eyes studying the room, looking everywhere but at him. "I thought..."

"You thought what?"

"Sometimes I wonder why I'm still here." She began. "Sometimes I wish I wasn't. Everything I know, it should be some compensation, right?" Her eyes implored him to answer. He could only shrug, wondering where she was leading with this. "I can never talk to my parents again. They think I'm dead."

"I'm sorry." whispered Pierre. And he was. Sorry for the mess her life had become, sorry for both of them for losing any amount of normality they'd had.

"There's no need." Lucy dismissed his apology with a wave of her hand. And yet she still seemed vulnerable as she stared at him. "I'm not even sure if I love them anymore, or if I miss them. I miss the  _idea_  of them. But now they're just people, people as any other walking the earth. They have no significance to the world individually, only as a group do people make any real impact." She ascertained with a shrug.

"They're still your parents." Pierre insisted. "And you've proven how much impact one person can make."

Lucy smiled ruefully. "What impact is that? I gave Professor Norman everything he needed to change the world. It needs to come from someone like him to make any real difference. And what has he done with it? Nothing."

"He's afraid."

"Afraid of me? Of course. Are you afraid of me?"

Pierre frowned, confused by the jumps in conversation. She still hadn't given him a response to any question he'd asked and it was frustrating him. "I'm not afraid of you."

"Good." Lucy smiled, but her eyes were probing, as if searching him for the truth.

"You haven't answered my questions," Pierre said pointedly.

"Sit down." Lucy gestured to the bed, to a spot beside her. His usual sleeping spot, his bed still mussed from getting out of it only a few hours before. He scowled at the command. "Please, Pierre. I promise to answer your questions."

He sat on the edge of the bed, sliding onto it fully and mirroring her posture, his legs crossed.

"Why am I back?" Lucy's lips pursed. "It's not an easy question to answer. I don't know, not exactly. I feel a pull, to you. Do you remember why I kept you with me?"

Pierre wouldn't forget. "To remind you of your own humanity."

Lucy nodded. "I've been everywhere in the world. To every country, every city in moments. I've seen the best humanity has to offer, and the worst. I've searched the galaxy for answers I've already answered, wondered what other purpose I could serve, what more I could do before I die."

"Will you die?" Pierre wondered.

Lucy nodded. "I could live forever, I think. I could live a hundred lifetimes and still look the same. I could be a child and allow myself to grow. But I hope to die. To age naturally if I can. To experience things other people have no choice about."

"And where do I fit in?" Pierre questioned, afraid of the answer.

"I might look like Lucy, but some days I forget that I was ever the girl who was a drug mule. I forget that I once had a family, or friends or mundane concerns about school or how I looked. The days I forget are starting to vastly outnumber the days I remember. There are so many things that are more important, or they seem that way."

"You still want me to remind you." At her nod he frowned. "Why me?"

"I watch my parents. I see their grief, their worry about what's happened to me. To them I will always be the little girl they remember. The little girl that didn't drink, didn't sleep with random men, the little girl who could never be what I am now. They remember me through rose-colored glasses and would never see me for who I was. Professor Norman is afraid of me. He respects me, but he views me with an awed clinical fascination that negates my status as a person. He would do his best to help me, but the day I disappeared was the day I would never again be Lucy in his eyes. The few friends I had were shallow, and most have already dismissed me from their mind."

"And what about me?"

"And you..." Lucy smiled softly. "You never knew Lucy before I was cut open. You never knew me when I was simply a normal person. And yet you wanted me, even when I confused you."

Pierre got up, turning away from her. He wasn't sure what she wanted from him, what he was willing to give.

"I thought...I thought you could love me." Lucy's voice was hesitant.

Pierre's emotions were tangled up again with those words. She'd come to him wearing a different face, trying perhaps to seduce him. She'd already admitted that whatever bonds had once mattered to her, that had perhaps defined her, she no longer cared about. He should tell her to leave, take her admission as a sign that he needed to forget her. Get a job, meet someone who didn't twist him up with every word out of her mouth. And yet his heart was beating faster at the thought of what her words might mean. Would she stay with him?

"And what would be in it for me?" He asked bluntly.

"I still remember what it's like to have sex. I remember pleasure. I...want you." She looked slightly bewildered at the idea.

"Do you? You could have anyone."

Lucy nodded. "I could. But I would feel nothing. Not lust or affection. Not revulsion or fear. With you, it's different."

Pierre laughed. "You expect me to believe that? Out of every man on earth, you want me? Only me?" The thought was ludicrous. He wasn't bad looking, he knew this. But he'd never been one to send hearts racing. He'd never been swarmed with female admirers. The last two relationships he'd had had been ended by the woman. They'd said the obligatory 'it's not you, it's me' but he'd known. He'd worked long hours, cared more for his job then he should have. In the end the man he was could not be enough for them. He didn't blame them.

"Yes." Lucy looked utterly serious.

"Why?" It felt like a question he was repeating too often, but none of what she said was making much sense to him. He'd yearned for her presence, and she was speaking words he'd secretly longed to hear, but he couldn't forget that she wasn't entirely human. That whatever she'd become held no special regard for any person she'd once known. Her intellect had seemingly stripped her of emotion, though she'd shown an amazing ability to act like she felt them. And for him, no less.

"I don't know." Lucy responded, infuriating him. For a woman who knew everything, she seemed to grasp very little. "Pierre, you dreamed of me."

He flushed, embarrassed that she knew of his dreams. Dreams that were both his greatest hopes and fantasies as well as his most heartbreaking fears. "And you saw those? Invaded my privacy?"

Lucy nodded. "I did. And at first, it was confusing and fascinating to see what you thought of me, what you wanted from me. To see what an impact I'd made on your life humbled me like nothing else has. I simply watched at first. But after awhile, I participated." She said it so matter of fact and yet Pierre flushed remembering a particular dream of only two nights before where he acted out every fantasy he could think of. Every dirty thought he'd ever had of her. And she'd participated.

"My dreams have been getting clearer recently." he conceded. He'd wondered why his dreams would be getting more vivid the more time had passed. He remembered with equal parts embarrassment and anger that another recent dream had Lucy happily married to him, with three kids. His dreams weren't always explicit and that one had been one of the best. "You've been manipulating me." He accused.

"No, I haven't. It was confusing at first when I realized I wasn't immune to you. But what I felt, what I feel for you now is genuine. I won't lie to you, Pierre. I don't know if I can love you. The concept of love is difficult for me to grasp now. I've already told you there are many days I forget, forget how to be human with all our strengths and weaknesses. With you, I remember more and more each day. I look at you and feel arousal, and tenderness and hope. I think I could be Lucy again, if you showed me how."

"And if you're asking too much?" Pierre questioned.

"You're my last chance." Lucy stated. "It's not fair, but it's true. I think without you, I'd simply fade away, forget everything. Be forgotten. Isn't that what everyone wants? To matter? I feel like I matter to you." She shifted until her legs swung off the bed, standing slowly and circling the bed. "I tried to connect with people. I visited my parents' dreams, and felt empty. I went to bars and seduced dozens of men and felt nothing when they kissed me...when they touched me." Pierre grunted as if punched, a sharp pain shooting through him at the thought. "I didn't sleep with them, I couldn't. I wanted nothing from them, but I want something from you. I don't know if it's enough. Only you can tell me."

Lucy laid her hand on his shoulder, urging him to turn towards her. Her eyes searched his, her hand cupping his cheek. He shivered at the feel of her fingers gently caressing his skin. Her arms circled his neck hesitantly, pulling his face down to hers. Her lips brushed his, once, twice before parting and urging him to respond. He held still, conflicted on what he should do. He was afraid what she offered wasn't enough, could never be enough. He was afraid he would lose himself in her entirely, only for her to walk away. He was afraid of growing old and watching her stay young by his side. He was afraid love would turn to hate, hope to bitterness.

But her lips coaxed a reaction from him, her body sliding against his, her fingers burying themselves in his hair. "Pierre." The uttered cry was enough for his self control. She pulled him down to the bed and he went willingly.

Pierre didn't dream that night. He woke in a panic, afraid that she was gone. Lucy was cuddled to his side, her eyes opening at his sudden movement. Her fingers rested on his chest, her legs tangled with his. She soothed him with gentle caresses, whispering soft reassurances as Pierre clung to her.

"I'm here." Lucy murmured. "I'm not going anywhere Pierre."

He sighed in relief, but he was troubled. "I didn't dream of you."

Lucy kissed his neck, nipping his skin. "When I'm...human, and not simply existing, I need to sleep, to eat as anyone does. I was too tired to visit you tonight." He could feel her smile against his skin. "I blame that on you."

"So I won't dream of you anymore?"

"I didn't say that. We'll still share dreams. I won't be able to stop myself. But I wanted to rest, at least tonight. I wanted to dream of nothing so I could wake up beside you. I wanted morning sex, and to eat breakfast with you and shower with you. For once, I didn't care to know anything but what it felt like to simply be right here."

Pierre smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Better than any dream."

Lucy tilted her face so she could study him. "You really believe that."

"Of course I do. I don't know what will happen in our future, or if you'll even be in mine. I choose to focus on now, on the woman who's stolen all of me."

"I can't make promises." Lucy said sadly.

"And I'm not expecting you to. I'll take what I can get."

"And if it's not enough?" Lucy asked him with apprehension.

"It will be," he assured her. "I have more than I had yesterday. More than I ever hoped for."

Lucy frowned but accepted his answer. She was willing to trust him. "I think I could love you." she offered carefully.

"Good." Pierre's tone was subdued but when she looked at him his expression was peaceful, happiness shining around him in an aura that almost hurt her eyes.

It was one of the reasons she wanted him above everything. She could see many things lost to humanity's limited perspective of the world, and seeing him like this made her feel more than she ever had before. She couldn't make promises to him, but she could make a promise to herself. She was his, no matter what he felt in one year or thirty. This body, spirit, whatever made up the Lucy he knew belonged to him. He was her anchor and she would be his. Everything else could be dealt with when the time came.

"I love you." Pierre spoke softly against her hair but she heard him perfectly and smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
